by Laura Parker
And when he was spent, he pulled her so tightly to him that she unconsciously struggled to ease his embrace. But he did not yield. The Hind Div never yielded to a weaker nature. Never!
He had only this night to lie in the embrace of Japonica Fortnom, his never-to-be bride.
Japonica jerked awake, as panicked by the darkness as if she were suffocating. Yet she drew breath easily and all she had to do was open her heavy-lidded eyes to chase away the deep gloom. They fell shut again almost immediately. Behind her lids, the world was a whirling dervish, yet sensations penetrated the turmoil. Beneath her hands were the textures of silk and velvet. And surely a down pillow cushioned her head. Then she reached out and met the solid wall of a bare chest.
“Ah, you awaken.”
Confused and incredulous she looked up into the painted face of the Hind Div.
He leaned on an elbow as he lay beside her, an expression of amused tenderness on his face. “So now you’ve learned something of the nature of men.” He placed a hand on her stomach and she felt with a distinct shock the heat of his palm on her bare skin. He kissed her before she could move away, a soft quick kiss, then he reached out and lay his forefinger against her right cheek. “I am honored by your gift, bahia.”
Panicked by his words, she brought her arms up to push him away but they were curiously weak and folded at the elbows instead of providing resistance. He gathered her close, rolling with her until she was above him. And then he shoved her roughly from the bed so that she fell on her knees on the rug. “Go home, Miss Fortnom.”
Japonica stared up at him from the floor in stark horror. She had been lying in bed with a naked man. And worse, he knew who she was!
He reached across the bed and picked up her things. “You will want these.” He tossed the items to her and they scattered about her.
Tears of humiliation welled up in her eyes as she scrambled about in her nakedness trying to gather her clothes. Her thoughts swirled and twisted with angry vigor as she slipped her abeyya over her head with shaking hands. Why could she not remember exactly what had occurred between them?
She put a hand to her brow. Her thoughts would not come together. She felt as if she had been ill with a fever. So many questions needed answers but she could not even speak to the naked man sprawled out so shamelessly before her.
As she slipped on her shoes she looked nervously about. How long had she been here? The shrouded room gave no hint of the hour. The only clues to the last minutes—hours?—were in the swollen feel of her lips and a strange aching low down. Then she remembered. He said he had drugged her!
She kept her gaze deliberately away from the Hind Div as she rose to her feet. Thankfully, he did not move or speak. But the unspoken question danced a frenzy inside her. What else had he done to her? Had he violated her? Surely not—! This was just another of his tricks. He liked to torment and tease. Perhaps he had undressed her, taking delight in her helplessness, as she lay naked before him. But surely he had not—!
She cast an angry glance to where he now sat absolutely expressionless on the side of the bed, dressed in his abe. No doubt he was waiting for her to rail at him for drugging her. The honeyed taste of spiced wine still hung in back of her throat and threatened to gag her.
She drew in a shuddery breath. Very well. He had amused himself at her expense. Yet, he knew who she was. Most likely he had read Lord Abbott’s letter while she dozed. If he had violated her, he would not have just ordered her to leave when he knew she would be returning to the viscount, who could have him arrested. Surely it was only embarrassment that made her dance on a knifepoint of doubt.
She covered her head with her shawl, her mind racing. Every instinct told her to flee. Yet how could she explain to Lord Abbott that she had been unsuccessful?
Shame was not a thing she could use to advantage with the Hind Div. There was only audacity. “Astonish me!” he had challenged.
As she turned to look fully into his eyes, an idea sprung to life. “By your words just now you admit that you are in my debt.”
She saw his gaze flicker. Nodding once, he rose from the bed. “Name your price. Afghan rubies? Burmese sapphires? This, perhaps?”
With a flick of his wrist he produced into his palm a turquoise ring worthy of a Sultan and held it out to her. “It is yours.”
She shook her head. No jewel in the world would ever assuage her anger for his treatment this night. But there was something. “You said that I may name my price. I want passage for three—immediately—out of Baghdad in safety to Bushire.”
For an instant she saw surprise in his golden gaze. At last she had astonished him! Then it was eclipsed by a smile that reached all the way up and out through his eyes. “I have misjudged you. I am glad.”
“Does that mean you agree?”
He did not answer but took her by the arm and pushed her to the pavilion’s edge and lifted a curtain. “Go home, Uzza. My servant will see you to safety. But sleep lightly.”
Japonica stared at him, unable to determine from either his words or his expression if a bargain had been struck. Then her gaze settled on the wicked curve of his mouth. It had!
Without thinking an instant beyond the impulse, she leaned toward him on tiptoe. “Thank you, burra sahib.” Then she astonished herself by kissing him full on the lips.
When she was gone he smiled to himself. She was made of sturdier stuff than he had supposed. These last minutes must have been as difficult for her as anything she would ever experience. By braving it out she had won from him something rare; his respect. So, then, the night had not destroyed her spirit or her honor. There would be no consequences beyond the memory of his never-to-be bride and himself.
Just to be certain his mind had not played a trick on him, he reread the letter. Then he went to his writing table and composed a note. When he was done, the laughter which burst from him could be heard beyond the high stone walls of his house.
Chapter Three
Japonica’s slippers made soft, swishing sounds on the marble floor as she paced outside the office of the Resident of the East India Company in Bushire. Lord Shrewsbury was now a guest in the Resident’s home and she had been summoned for a briefing on his condition. All agreed it was a miracle that he survived the trip from Baghdad by a whole week.
She had not seen the Hind Div again, yet he had kept his part of their bargain. Before daylight of the day following their meeting a takhi-I-ravan, a Persian coach comprised of a covered litter carried by horses harnessed before and after, had arrived at the viscount’s door. Accompanied by uniformed guards she, Aggie, and Lord Shrewsbury had been whisked out of Baghdad.
She should be relieved and ready to put the entire experience out of her mind. Yet nothing soothed or satisfied her. Not the return to the comfort of her home or the pleasure of her herb garden, or even the company of her friends. Nothing she did could long keep her thoughts from the memory of her encounter with the Hind Div.
He had ravished her!
Japonica gripped her Paisley shawl more closely about her shoulders, her step quickening as if she could outpace her thoughts.
Once the drug wore off, bits and pieces of that night came back to her along with the realization of what he had done, what she had done.
The truth should have shocked her. Remarkably, it had not. The memories did not seem quite real. Yet she did not doubt a single fleeting shadow of that night. She had wanted adventure. She had very nearly met with disaster.
Japonica looked up at the cry of a peacock in the courtyard. He was strutting toward a drab peahen, his tail feathers spread in vivid array. Yet the Hind Div could give the fowl lessons in dazzlement. Even now all she had to do was close her eyes to see his fantastic countenance, the enticement in those golden eyes. Like the peahen watching in rapt fascination she too, in an unguarded moment of awe, forgot to beware of his sorcerer’s skill.
She turned sharply away from the mating dance. His treatm
ent of her was what she could have expected from a brigand and spy. Moreover, it galled her to admit that she was to blame for the success of his vile plan. She had poured for him the wine that was her downfall! Most damning of all to her character was the fact that she had been so unaware of her true circumstance that she had voluntarily kissed the rogue!
“Wanton!” Japonica murmured the word of forbidden longing under her breath. It was the drug that had overrun her sense of decency, she told herself each time memory assailed her. But she did not quite believe it. She once feared she would die an old maid. Desire. Now she knew it, to her regret.
“Fool!”
“What did you say?”
Japonica turned quickly to the speaker. The Resident had opened his door and stood gazing inquiringly at her. “I beg pardon, sir.” She curtsied to cover her embarrassment. “I did not realize I was no longer alone.”
He cocked his head to look down the length of the veranda before he said, “Come in, Miss Fortnom.”
The preliminaries of good manners took up the next several minutes as he offered her jasmine tea and ginger biscuits. Finally, when the servant who served them withdrew, the Resident set his teacup aside and leaned back in his chair with a broad smile. “So then, you have done well for us, Miss Fortnom. Well, indeed.”
“I would feel better if Lord Shrewsbury’s recovery were assured.”
The Resident shook his head slowly. “You cannot fail to be aware, as he is, that he is dying.”
“It is my greatest regret.”
“But not your fault. Lord Abbott speaks daily of your excellent care. Says you alone are responsible for what little ease he has had these last weeks.” He reached into the pocket of his coat and took out a sealed document. “In fact, he has put me to the task of laying before you yet another matter. It is most unorthodox and I cannot in good conscience request it of you. But…”
She took the document and read the first lines of several thick pages of foolscap. “Lord Abbott proposes to make me viscountess and guardian to his …” She looked up in astonishment. “His five daughters!”
The Resident nodded with a smile. “It is an offer of marriage.”
Distinct shock ran through Japonica. “To me? Why?”
The Resident cleared his throat. “It is all written there. I think you will find the details of such an alliance decidedly to your advantage.” He smiled warmly. “And I believe your father, knowing him as I did, would approve.”
Japonica shook her head. “But marriage to a dying man? It is … unseemly.”
He nodded solemnly. “It would seem irregular at first glance. Yet do not think badly of him, Miss Fortnom. He is but thinking of his daughters who would otherwise become destitute at his death. There is the usual entailment upon the Shrewsbury title. All properties and income derived become the sole property of the new viscount. Had Lord Abbott produced a son, this would not be a problem. It is not incumbent upon the new heir to care for Lord Abbott’s offspring. Still, the dowager’s portion would allow his widow to live in any of the Shrewsbury residences with a stipend generous enough to care for the children.”
Japonica nodded but she did not in all honesty, understand the peculiar ways of nobility that sacrificed the security of many for the continued prosperity of the few. “Perhaps there is someone else more suitable in Bushire. A widow?”
“It’s been considered. There is no one else ….” He let the thought trail away, as it began to sound as if she were the viscount’s last choice. “But think, my dear Miss Fortnom. Such a marriage would elevate you to a level of society to which you might never have aspired.”
“I do not hope to rise above my situation,” she murmured.
“It is to your credit that you demure. Of course, your father left you a sizable inheritance …”
“Which marriage would give control of to my spouse,” she added.
The Resident had the grace to look abashed but continued with the assurance of one who has already composed his argument against all debate. “Lord Abbott disavows all claim to your inheritance.” He pointed to the document she held. “Read it all for yourself. But before you do, allow me to show you something else.”
He walked over to his desk and picked up a velvet pouch. After loosening the drawstring he withdrew five oval frames and arranged them on the desk. “Come, look you here.”
She approached and saw five miniature portraits lying on the desktop.
“Their names are Hyacinthe, Alyssum, Peony, Cynara, and Laurel.” The Resident smiled. “Fanciful, perhaps, but being an avid horticulturist, Lord Abbott chose names from his gardens. ‘The Shrewsbury Posy’ he calls them.”
Japonica touched each portrait with a fingertip as she repeated the names aloud. The eldest was perhaps ten, the youngest an apple-cheek cherub in swaddling. Spread between them were the likeness of girls four, six, and eight. Her bosom swelled with the compassion she would have felt for any about-to-be-orphaned child. Five children! It was an enormous charge.
She looked up at her host. “Will Lord Shrewsbury’s family approve of his children being given into the care of a commoner?”
The Resident pulled at his lower lip before answering. “I won’t quibble. There will be the usual obstacles in a marriage many will consider a misalliance. Yet I cannot think of a readier spirit for the project than yours, Japonica. If I may be so bold to call you Japonica.” He reached out and took her hand. “Your father was a particular friend of mine and I would see to it that his daughter is placed safely out of danger.”
She looked up from her perusal of the portraits. “What sort of danger?”
His expression grew serious as if he debated his next words. “You have made yourself known to those best left in ignorance of your existence.”
“You mean the Hind Div?” Her eyes widened as the Resident looked away, clearly discomforted by her question. Mercy! What had he heard? “You fear he means me some mischief?”
“No, not he.” He squeezed her hand before releasing it. “The viscount fears that in urging you to seek out the Hind Div he put your life in jeopardy. This is a country in which revenge is often exacted upon the friends as well as the households of one’s enemies. The Hind Div was a man with many enemies.”
“You say was?”
He looked at her, his eyes full of concern. “The Hind Div is dead, my dear.”
Japonica turned sharply away. Despite her anger and hurt at her humiliation at his hands, she had never once wished the Hind Div harm. A dozen things ran through her mind, questions to which there would now never be answers. At the end of that brief torment all she could think to ask was, “When?”
“Shortly after you left Baghdad. It is said an assassin murdered him after Afghan rebels put a price on his head.”
“Are you certain?” Doubt bolstered her disbelief. “The Hind Div is known for his trickery and magic. Perhaps this is just another of his deceptions.”
He smiled a little sadly. “We have our ways of knowing. I should not have brought it up. The matter may rest with his death.”
“I see.” The Hind Div was a violent man who lived a violent life. What other end could she expect for him? She should not be so shocked. She should not feel as if a bit of her own life were draining out of her. “You will forgive me if I resume my seat,” she said in a wooden tone, crossing on unsteady legs to her chair.
“Dear child, I have distressed you.” The Resident poured her a cup of tea. “I assure you, as long as you are in Bushire, you are safe. However, if you agree to marry the viscount, you will be sent to England.” He indicated the document she still held. “Read it very carefully before you decide. If you so choose, you can leave for England almost immediately.”
“I’ve never been to England,” she said absently. Dead! So vital a being gone from this earth? It did not seem possible.
“Then you shall find the experience most interesting, I expect.”
“Perhaps.
” She forced her thoughts away from the pavilion room of a house in the old suq of Baghdad. “What do you suppose Lord Shrewsbury’s heir will have to say in the matter?”
The Resident smiled. “I believe that he is unaware of the future pressing in upon him. He’s in the army, in India.”
“I see.” So even his future was uncertain. He might well die before the coronet ever rested officially upon his brow. Dead! Was it possible that those golden eyes no longer looked so boldly upon the world?
“… act of mercy, Japonica Fortnom.” He squeezed her shoulder. “Give it due consideration.”
She regarded him with frank doubt as a new thought occurred to her. She was damaged goods, as Aggie would say. Would the viscount still wish to marry her if he knew? To keep him in ignorance of the feat would be to cheat a generous man, even if he were dying. If she were to agree to wed him, she would first tell him about her visit to the Hind Div. No, she should say nothing, do nothing. No good would be done in telling that truth.
The room seemed all at once much too warm. The urge to burst into tears pressed upon her so hard she abruptly stood up. “I think I must decline. I believe …”
Her gaze wandered to the dear little faces on the desk. How unfairly life dealt with females, even those born in its loftiest realms. Their father’s hasty marriage was all that stood between them and poverty. How could she abandon helpless infants? She could not.
She turned to the man who had been her father’s friend and now saw himself providing best counsel for her. “Very well. You may tell the viscount I accept his—his offer.” Had any wedding ever been so coolly arranged?
“You have yet to read the details,” the Resident reminded her.
